


High Hopes Low Safety

by Goldstone_Wolf



Series: High Hopes Low (Blank) [4]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), High Hopes Low Rolls (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Gen, I mean everyone sort of shows up during this, Near Death Experiences, Pneumonia, Weapons, near-drowning, the whole story banks on Hashaan forgetting she's the healer again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf
Summary: Hashaan and Nagar act like stereotypical dragonborns and focus way too much on a mission. Unfortunately, Paddy pays the price for them. TWs in tags.
Series: High Hopes Low (Blank) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692196
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	High Hopes Low Safety

**Author's Note:**

> This whole “High Hopes Low ” thing is just something I found funny. If it’s annoying…sorry, I’m not changing it. Like, I’ve written four HHLR fics in the past week and they’re “High Hopes Low Respiratory Rates”, “High Hopes Low HP”, “High Hopes Low Safety”, and “I Believe in Love” and the only reason that last one’s not named “High Hopes Low Luck” is because I was listening to the song it’s named after on loop. Also, because I might use that name for another story, who knows.
> 
> Also, poor Paddy and Malark. They almost suffer more than my own characters do (which is a lot, considering one guy got impaled, one guy was forced to let his cousin kill him forty-something times, several of our lads, ladies, and…ladnonbinary kids have watched a sibling die, etc.). One of my quotes about them is, “The fact you’re counting on both hands speaks lowly of my ability to keep you alive but volumes about my ability to get you killed”. This may be OoC, and Hashaan’s and Nagar’s accents are probably awfully written.
> 
> Anyways, into the fray!

Dragonborns couldn’t catch colds.

Apparently, they couldn’t catch bad guys, either.

Hashaan hacked through the foliage with a growl, eyes narrowed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Slashing at an innocent sapling, she roared. They had failed to catch the bad guys. “They” meaning herself, Nagar, and Paddy. They were the only three able to go. The others were stuck in the inn at varying stages of an awful cold. Since dragonborns couldn’t get it, the three of them were sent out. Instead of _doing their job,_ they had failed.

_She_ had failed.

“Hashaan, it’s okay. I’m sure we can catch up with them.” Paddy reassured, and she snarled at him. Flinching back, he glanced away and at the ground. His green eyes widened. “Hey, there’s tracks in the mud. We haven’t lost them yet—come on!”

The wood elf led them charging through the woods, nimbly jumping over fallen logs and running through thick bushes Hashaan and Nagar had to cut through. “Paddy, vait for us!” Nagar shouted, although their little friend didn’t seem to notice.

When they caught up to him, the boy was coughing harshly and leaning against a tree. “Zis is vhy ve slow down, Paddy.” Hashaan mused, looking down and slapping him on the back.

He sent a weak smile her way. “Sorry, think I might just be a little tired, that’s all.”

“Vell, zen, ve’ll just have to keep moving. Ve’re all tired, you know.”

\/\/\/\/\/

Paddy had been lying.

Well, not truly lying—he _was_ tired. Tired…and probably sick, too. “Come on, Paddy, vat is ze hold up?” Hashaan demanded from up ahead as he leaned against the closest tree. His stomach was doing a flip, twisting like the ribbon dancers he knew when he was at Monroe’s. Opening his eyes, he sent a weak smile her way.

“N-nothing. I didn’t sleep well. Malark was up all night coughing.” Another partial lie—Malark had been out cold. Paddy couldn’t sleep because his chest felt like it was filled with water. When he laid down, it burned, and coughing made his ribs ache. “I’m fine.”

“Zen get a move on!”

Stumbling forwards, he shivered. No, he couldn’t be getting sick. And if he was, too bad. The others had it worse. Especially Malark—he was a light sleeper, but this had him out heavier than even Nagar (who was known to have slept through a rather nasty earthquake before).

Besides, it was just a little cold.

\/\/\/\/\/

Hashaan and the others caught up with their prey in a canyon.

Well, really, Hashaan and Nagar had. For once, Paddy was being worse than Nagar and lagging behind. Even worse, he was coughing, which gave them away. When he finally caught up, she glared down at him. “You vil scare off ze bad guys, Paddy.”

“Sorry.”

“Zen do better.”

The trio stalked into the clearing where their opponents were. One of them looked up, eyes crinkling as he smiled behind his mask. “Well, hello there, High Hopes. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Zen vhy did you run?” Nagar asked, gripping his battleaxe. Hashaan did the same with his own weapon. They were drgonborns, this fight would be easy.

She would not fail a second time.

Their opponent smiled and made a gesture to the others. Two sprinted north, two west, and the fifth remained at the leader’s side. “So that we could have some fun.”

“Paddy, go north. Nagar, west. I vill handle zese ones.” The pair nodded and split, and Paddy disappeared after tripping over a tree root. Hashaan focused on her own battle.

She would not fail again.

\/\/\/\/\/

Nagar charged his opponents, swinging his battleaxe around with a roar.

Both dodged. One slipped around his side, landing a sharp blow to his ribs with a pike but failing to pierce his hide. Her friend, meanwhile, bashed him in the head with a warhammer. Stumbling to the side, Nagar growled and lunged again.

“You know, dragonbon, I heard you can’t catch a cold. Is that true?” The one with the pike asked, jabbing for his chest. They didn’t seem to actually be trying to kill him.

“Yes, zat is true. Ve cannot get colds.” A scream echoed through the trees. He smacked the butt of his axe into one of the ladies’ legs. She gasped, then swung her weapon into his knee. With a cry, he stumbled.

“What about wood elves?”

“I do not know. Vhy do you ask?” Another scream ripped through the air and he froze. The noise was familiar. “Paddy. Vat did you do to him?”

When he looked around, the pair had disappeared.

_Paddy._ Staggering to his feet, Nagar smacked himself in the forehead. Of course the ladies weren’t trying to _kill_ him—they wanted to _distract_ him. Him—and Hashaan, too, he realised. Paddy had already been targeted before by assassins, by Malark. Someone had wanted him dead—who says they would not try again?

And with the others out, Paddy had no defence. He wasn’t sick— _except he is,_ Nagar realised, clutching his horns. _They are going to kill him._

Turning, he ran in the direction where the screams came from.

\/\/\/\/\/

“Come on, wood elf, get up!”

Weakly, Paddy raised his head, eyes burning and vision blurred. Something smashed into his midsection. With a sickening feeling, he realised it was a spear.

He had been impaled.

His attackers advanced, one ripping the spear out only to plunge it back into his stomach. The river trickled past behind him, and Paddy coughed again. Something hot and sticky coated his lips as he clutched the spear, trying to keep them from pulling it out. An arrow lodged in his shoulder, snapping it back. With a weak cry, Paddy went limp. Maybe if they thought he was dead, they’d leave him alone.

There was another arrow in the middle of his chest. An acrid scent filled the air and made his nose itch—not blood, but something he just knew wasn’t good. “You know, I never thought you’d be so _weak._ Then again, you _are_ sick. Wonder if we’d get a higher paycheck if we brought your corpse in.”

The spear was removed, then stabbed back into his hip.

“I think we should drown him before the others find us. Come on, move him.” The other said. _No, no, please!_ Paddy clawed at their arms as he was dragged across the mud over to the river, but he was too weak to fight back. He was going to die there. Alone, wounded, and sick. _No, please!_

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was his head being shoved underwater, fingers squeezing his throat.

\/\/\/\/\/

“ _Malark_ , you need to _stay in bed!”_

Mina chased him down the stairs of the inn as he ran for the door. Dimly, he could hear Terra following her. Something was wrong with Paddy, he just knew it. He wasn’t sure how.

The wood elf had left with the dragonborns hours before—they should have been back by then.

At the gates he saw the flash of Nagar’s white scales and Hashaan’s black ones. Sprinting as fast as his weak legs could carry him, he paused at the fountain.

Paddy was dangling from Nagar’s arms.

“Wh-what happened?” He asked as soon as they were close enough. There was blood everywhere on the wood elf and Nagar. Paddy’s face was turned into Nagar’s chest. Wet strips of hair clung to his forehead, his makeup washed away.

“Zey…zey vanted us to split up. Ve didn’t zink zey vould…he vas sick. Ve didn’t know.” Nagar offered with a pathetic glance at Mina. Reaching up with a shaking hand, Malark gently touched Paddy’s cheek.

He was alive…barely.

\/\/\/\/\/

Paddy didn’t expect to wake up.

Except he did.

Dimly, he realised he was shirtless, that something damp was on his chest and throat. Another damp thing was pressed to the back of his neck. Bandages wrapped his body and he knew the others were around him. Malark’s fingers dragged through his hair.

With a cough, he cracked his eyes open. His head was in Malark’s lap, and the assassin looked down. “Wh-what happened?” The words could barely count as a whisper, only a shade above silence. His throat hurt.

When he reached up, his fingers met more bandages before Malark took his hand. “Hey, relax. You’re okay.”

Someone—Zada—gently wiped at his face with a damp washcloth. _That must be what the other damp things are._ “Nagar…Hashaan…”

“Ve are here.” The bed sank as Hashaan sat down beside him. “I am sorry, Paddy. I should have realised zat you vere sick.”

With a weak smile, Paddy shakily touched her arm. “It’s okay, Hashaan. It’s just a cold.”

“I wouldn’t call _pneumonia_ ‘just a cold’.” Ryce announced, and Paddy stared at him for a moment before realising the others looked significantly better than the last time he’d seen them.

“H-how long have I been out?” He asked, wincing as he spoke. Every word felt like it was edged with thorns, his throat raw and sore. Someone held a glass of water to his mouth. With Malark’s help, he started drinking.

“Five days.” Choking, Paddy started coughing and gasping. Malark held him down so he didn’t hurt himself.

“Okay, now that we’ve nearly killed Paddy again,” Gwing shot a look Ryce’s way. The bard didn’t notice, “Let’s let him get some rest. Sweet dreams, Paddy.”

Everyone left excluding Malark, and Paddy glanced at the assassin before relaxing. With Malark’s fingers in his hair, it was hard not to.

He was out within minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in twelve hours and finished right before I found out my sketches of Paddy and Malark got reblogged and instead of doing my classes. Anyways, my mind has been going from too anxious to do anything to too exhausted to do anything. So if this is a bad story, sorry. If you have some fluff/whump/etc you want to see, I’ll take prompts in the comments. But no smut.  
> Now, back into the fray!


End file.
